Tomorrow
by TheRoseShadow21
Summary: The circus is interesting, a curiosity. If he went, he'd get it out of his system. He has money, and time. He has no homework, and there is no-one home to object. Besides, going to a circus would be a better way of filling his last night on earth than just moping around and listening to music would. Oneshot, rated T to be safe.


He is heading home from school at last when he passes the circus.

It sits in the field across the road from him, the field that was once part of a now-abandoned farm. Even from here, he can see the circus is made from many tents rather than just one, and all of them are black and white. The entire thing is surrounded by an iron fence.

It looks impressive. But it was not there yesterday.

He stares at it for a moment, and then shrugs. There's no point in getting interested in anything new, after all. So he puts the thought out of his mind, and trudges home, trying not to look at anyone. He doesn't want anyone to work out what it is he is planning and stop him.

But everyone is talking about the circus, or so it seems. He passes by many, many people, and all of them seem to be talking about it. About how it just appeared suddenly, how there were no announcements, leaflets or any form of advertisement. About the strangeness of the colour scheme and how it is only open at night.

This last detail piques his interest, but he is annoyed at the way it breaks through his wall. So he tries his hardest to not listen to any more about this circus. Of course, his life being the way it is, that doesn't happen, and so getting through his front door is a relief. But it is only a temporary one, as the usual bitterness about his life sets in. Resisting the urge to scream the walls down, he does a quick circuit of his house to confirm what he already knows: he is alone in the house, as usual.

He changes, taking a quick glance at the pre-prepared box on the top shelf of his cupboard, checking it is still there. It will be essential, for tomorrow night. He isn't planning on doing things half-heartedly this time. He resists the urge to take the box down again. He knows it won't have been tampered with. It wouldn't have even been noticed.

Yawning, he wanders down and sets about making himself the largest, most tasty sandwich he possibly can. On an impulse, he also decides to prepare a bowl of instant mash to eat with the sandwich. He isn't going to be around long enough to gain any weight or have cholesterol problems if he pigs out, so why the hell not?

When all his food is ready, he sits at the table and eats in a temporary state of happiness. As he does, he finds his thoughts drifting to the mysterious circus. He isn't entirely sure why he is thinking of it, but sure enough, he is. And eventually, the disconnected thoughts become one question: _Should I go?_

He thinks about this. The circus is interesting, a curiosity. If he went, he'd get it out of his system. He has money, and time. He has no homework, and there is no-one home to object. Besides, going to a circus would be a better way of filling his last night on earth than just moping around and listening to music would.

He finishes his food with a newfound enthusiasm, and washes his dishes ungrudgingly. He goes upstairs, and finds what he hopes is a decent amount of money-he'll have to pay for a ticket, after all, and if there are other things to buy he might just do so, for no other reason than _why the hell not_-and stashes it in his wallet, which he then puts into his jeans pocket. He finds gloves and a hat and puts them on, but decides against a coat, for it isn't that bad.

When he leaves the house again, he doesn't bother to leave a note.

**…**

The gathering crowd seems to consist of people older than him. There are a few his age-some of them from the same school-and the odd little one here and there. All of them are curious, and impatient. There appears to be no sign of life in the circus. He thanks his lucky stars that the sun is beginning to set, or he'd be in for a long, long wait.

As the sky burns, more people turn up. Some debate going back home, or finding something else to do, but for most, the curiosity and excitement wins. He finds himself determined to stay for as long as it takes for the circus to open, although he doesn't really know why.

And then finally, night falls. Everyone looks towards the gates in anticipation. For a moment, nothing happens. And then, lights on the tents begin to flicker into life. Slowly at first and then soon one follows rapidly after another. The gate follows suit, illuminating a sign that he had not been able to see previously. Soon, some of these lights form a few words: Le Cirque des Reves.

It takes him a moment, but he recalls enough from long-ago French lessons to translate the name of the circus as 'The Circus of Dreams'. Others are not so lucky, and have to ask their companions. Either way, the name is enchanting. It is as if the circus is alive now.

And finally, the gates open.

Surprisingly, the queue goes by quickly despite its continuing length, and soon he has purchased a ticket. He is just about to go through the curtain when he notices the clock opposite the booth. There is something dream-like in its presence, the way it seems to expand and contract, the way the figures dance across the clock face. It is more than just a clock, but the crowds prevent him from taking a closer look, and so he steps through the curtain.

Suddenly, he is all alone in a tunnel filled with stars. He turns around in a full circle a few times, but there is nobody to be seen. For a moment, he wonders if he is lost, but then goes on anyway. The tunnel is beautiful, and for some reason, he does not feel confined as he wanders and looks up at the tunnel-stars.

Then, all of a sudden, there is a bright light. He gasps, and blinks, and he realises that he has come out of the tunnel. He seems to be in a courtyard of sorts. There are various vendors selling different black-and white foods and drinks, a juggler throwing silver balls and batons in a complex pattern, a flautist playing a melody that weaves between other patrons coming and going, and at the centre of this activity is a bonfire in a cauldron. This is where the light comes from.

He steps closer, mesmerised. The flames are white instead of a warm-orange yellow. They seem to have a life of their own as they flicker and seem to try and get out of the cage they are in. For the cauldron the bonfire is more like a cage, strips of metal weaving in and out of each other in a pattern that melts into itself at the bottom.

It is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

He gazes at it for a while longer before shaking his head and leaving the courtyard. He didn't come here to be hypnotised by a fire, after all.

He picks a path at random, and takes a look at all the different signs on the tents, all seeming interesting but none pulling him in. The first to do so is something called 'The Ice Garden'. There is a disclaimer below the sign apologising for any 'thermal inconvenience' caused, which makes him smirk.

The tent is entirely white, and there are only a few people inside. As promised, it is a garden, with winding paths and all manners of plants. There are even a couple of trees. And all of them are made of ice. Actual ice. And as promised, it is cold. The ice sparkles, and it reminds him of Christmas. Once, he looked forward to Christmas. Being here reminds him of that, but in a good way.

He wanders around at a leisurely pace, admiring everything. He bends to sniff an ice rose, and is surprised to actually smell a flowery scent. He tries to pick the rose, but the stem breaks. He puts the flower to a side, surprised, and then sees that another one has grown in its place.

_That shouldn't be possible. _

Surprised, he tests this by breaking off a few more other flowers and leaves. All of them grow back, as white and dazzling as before. Eventually, he concludes that it is possible for plants made of ice to grow, although he cannot comprehend how. With another ice rose in his hand, he looks around him in awe. So far, this place isn't bad.

Almost on cue, he hears a woman giggling behind him, and the responding laugh of a man. But when he turns around, there is nobody there. He dismisses it as his imagination, and walks around a bit more before deciding to explore another tent.

He sees acrobats performing amazing tricks at dizzying heights, fire eaters that scare him slightly and Classical Japanese dancers with astounding grace before he gets hungry and decides to go to the courtyard to buy some snacks. He decides on a bag of chocolate mice, a packet of edible paper, and a cup of mulled cider.

Sipping the cider, which warms him considerably, he takes the opportunity to watch the dancing flames of the bonfire. Something about the flames still captivate him. He doesn't know whether it is the size, the colour or the sheer essence of it, but he finds that it is getting to him.

He watches the flames dance a little more before he realises what it is. The bonfire, although far from being a sentiment being, has a life of its own. It is bright, soulful and doesn't seem as if it'd ever go out. This bonfire is alive, more alive than he has been for a long, long time.

This thought disquiets him, and so he finished his mulled cider with a large gulp before throwing the cup into a bin that seems to swallow it, and going off to explore further.

**…**

He rides on a carousel with wooden animals that seem to breathe, draws pictures on blackboard walls and wanders through the most interesting hall of mirrors he has ever seen, seeing himself repeated, over and over. He pillow-fights with other patrons in a tent full of beds, listens to a story about a wizard and a tree, watches a statue move and makes a point of avoiding the fortune-teller despite that tent catching his eye, for as fun as all of this is, he does not intend to have a future.

Yet he keeps returning to gaze at it in between tent-exploring.

After the fourth or fifth time of watching the flames, he finds a tent calling itself the 'Cloud Maze'. And that, like almost everything in this circus, is nothing like he has ever seen before. It is a maze that goes up and down as well as left and right, and everything seems to be made from clouds. At least, everything is as soft as an actual cloud would be if it was possible to feel one. He trips and stumbles many times while climbing, but doesn't hurt himself.

Eventually, he tires, and wants to leave the tent. The only two ways of doing this are to climb back down or to jump. After a moment of deliberation, he jumps. At first, he closes his eyes, but eventually he opens them to see other whizzing past him. When he lands in a pile of fluffy clouds, he laughs, and lies there for a while, feeling lighter than he has done in a while.

When he leaves the tent and looks for another, he finds he cannot find one that interests him, although he finds happiness from just wandering the tents, reading the signs and listening to patrons wax lyrical about one tent or another. A few of these patrons notice his indecision, and give him recommendations. He finds himself thanking them genuinely, and even managing to give recommendations in return, but none of these quite get to him. Eventually, he gives up, and returns to his favourite thing about the circus.

He watches the flame, and thinks about everything in his life, everything he can remember, all the way up until this moment. It has been a crappy life, and he is looking forward to leaving it behind, but this circus….this circus…

_Even when I am gone, this flame will still be here._

The thought comes from nowhere and fills him with a feeling he's never had before. He gets up, and decides to find one more tent to visit before going home. And sure enough, he does.

The label at the front reads 'The Wishing Tree' and there is a box of chunky white candles just outside the tent. He takes one, and enters the tent.

What he sees takes his breath away.

A tree, in the middle of an otherwise empty tent. Branches black and twisted, and candle holders taking the place of leaves. In these candle holders are candles like the one he holds now, and all are lit, bright white flames dancing happily. Just like the bonfire.

He wonders if all of these lit candles are wishes of others. He wonders if those wishes ever came true. He looks at the candle in his hand for a moment, and then goes towards the tree. He thinks long and hard about what he is wishing for, and in that moment realises what the new feeling was.

_The desire to live._

He smiles at that, then lights his candle using one of those already lit. Then, he places it on an empty candle holder. He steps back to admire the effect, and smiles even more.

**…**

When he gets home, he is bone tired, but in a good way. Nobody is up waiting for him, as expected, but this time he doesn't feel so bitter about it. After putting his leftover chocolate mice in the fridge, he goes upstairs to get ready for bed.

He is just about to climb into bed and close his eyes when he remembers something. He gets back up, goes to his cupboard, and takes down his carefully prepared box. Then, he goes into the bathroom. Quietly, he opens the box, sorts through the pills and puts some back in the medicine cabinet. The rest, he drops into the toilet bowl, ready to flush away. Then, he unfolds his suicide note and takes a look at it. The words on the page are no else genuine now than they were when he wrote them. But now, he has something to live for. Grinning, he rips up the note, and flushes it away with the pills. He is not going to need them anymore. Nothing has changed, but everything is different.

When he sleeps that night, it is an easier sleep, and he dreams of what it is he might do when he goes to the circus tomorrow.


End file.
